


The Lost Bet: Aftermath

by S_Faith



Series: The Lost Bet Saga [3]
Category: Bridget Jones's Diary - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Sexy Lip Synch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-16
Updated: 2012-12-16
Packaged: 2019-11-27 11:52:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18194243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_Faith/pseuds/S_Faith
Summary: …and sometimes, a lose canreallybe a win.





	The Lost Bet: Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place immediately after "The Lost Bet: II". Because of _course_ I wrote this.
> 
> For American readers, [single cream = half & half](http://the-shoppers-market.com/misc/f/foodterms.html).
> 
> Disclaimer: Really, these are not my characters.

"I very much enjoyed dinner tonight."

She smiled, shifted her weight from one foot to the other; they stood together on the top step outside the front door of her building. "Yeah, so did I."

He chuckled. "You sound surprised."

"I can't lie," she said. "I am, a little." After a beat, she said, "So. Want to come upstairs?"

He tried to gauge how long to wait before agreeing. He didn't want to seem too eager, but also didn't want to seem he had to think about it for too long, like he was being pressured to come up. Then he nodded, and turned to indicate to the taxi driver he could head off. 

She unlocked the building door, then led him up the stairs. He was all too aware of the fact, during the climb to her top-floor flat, that she was dressed in that miniskirt, and her stockings had been unrecoverable at the pub earlier that day.

"It's not much," she said as she turned the key in the lock, "but it's home." She swung open the door and they both went another short flight into the flat proper. As he reached the top she turned around to face him with a smile. "Care for a drink?"

"Yes, thank you."

"I've got white wine," she said. "Maybe some red. Oh. And Irish cream, brand new bottle."

"That sounds good. The Irish cream. Thanks."

"You can have a seat," she said. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll be right back." He went to take a seat on the sofa, loosening and removing his tie, while she went to the kitchen. First came the distinctive clink of ice in glass tumblers, then she lifted the bottle to pour. Within moments she returned with the glasses and a bright smile. "Here we are," she said, then her smile faded a little. "Oh."

"What's wrong?"

"Not a thing," she said, shaking her head, smiling brightly once more. "Nothing important anyway."

He realised, in view that he had done nothing but sit on her sofa, he must have been in the seat she preferred, so hastily he rose and offered it to her. "Here you are."

"It's not silly, is it, to have a favourite seat?"

"Not in the least," he said as he sat back again on the opposite side of the sofa, then accepted one of the glasses. "Thank you."

She lifted her glass in a toast. "To renewed friendships."

He lifted his own glass and gave a brief nod of his head, then touched his glass to hers before bringing it to his lips for a long draw. She'd put some milk or single cream in with the liquor, as well as some ice, and it was sweeter and richer than he was used to in a drink, but it was delicious.

"So, if I may ask," he began, "what was the nature of the bet you apparently lost, and what would have happened if you'd won?"

She laughed low in her throat. "Too embarrassing," she said.

"More embarrassing than actually agreeing to strip off in public?" he joked.

She pursed her lips. "I thought you said I did all right."

"You did more than all right," he said quickly. 

She smiled softly, asking, "Did you really think so?"

"Yes," he said. "But what I meant was, it takes a lot of… well, _bravery_ to agree to it."

"Big brass balls, you mean," she said with a smirk. "Yeah. Well… to be honest, I never thought I'd lose."

He took another sip. "So what was the bet?"

She tipped up her glass, draining the rest of the creamy drink from it. "I think I'd need another drink before I get into all of that." 

He followed her lead and finished his own drink.

"Do you want another?" she asked.

"Sure," he said. "After all of your build-up, I'm intrigued by the subject of your bet."

"Okay," she said with a smile. "Be back in a flash." She rose, reaching for his empty glass, and as she bowed before him he got a clear view down her front. After the dance and strip earlier that evening it was certainly nothing he hadn't already seen, but it was still titillating. She caught him looking, though, and chuckled, then strode out of his vision. Shortly afterwards, he heard the sounds of drink preparation, and within a few more minutes she was back with their glasses. "Here you are," she said, handing his to him. "I ran out of single cream so it may be a bit stronger than the first."

He sipped and confirmed that this was in fact the case, but it was still very good; certainly he wasn't worried about driving just yet. After she took another sip, she swirled the drink around in the tumbler. "So you work with Magda's Jeremy?"

He nodded. "He rounded me up earlier today, building up the crowd as much as possible," he said. He thought again about the large number of people in the pub, her confident demeanour as she had began her obviously rehearsed routine. "You seemed not to be nervous at all. Were you?"

"Oh, hell _yes_ I was nervous," she said. "But I kept telling myself that if let it get the better of me that I'd look even more ridiculous. Didn't stop me from picturing myself, though, ending up on the floor of the pub, face down, arse up."

He couldn't stop himself from chuckling. "Well, you came nowhere close to that."

"Thank goodness."

He suddenly thought it important that he get off of the subject of the evening, find out a little bit more about her; leading off with an apology for his behaviour when they'd met again on New Years, he then asked about her work in publishing. She in turn gave him full detail of her working subordinate to a man with whom he was all too familiar, and he was able, with the full candour granted by a healthy portion of Bailey's Irish Cream, divulge his past association with that man, including how he had blown apart his own marriage.

She looked utterly aghast at this bit of information. "I don't want to believe it," she said, "but it all rings so true. Bloody hell, and to think I fancied him." As she said it her eyes flashed up to meet his own, and she turned bright crimson.

"Don't apologise," he said. "Daniel has that effect on women, and ultimately he did me a favour, though I'd never trust him again."

"A favour?" she asked. "How so?"

"He made me realise I shouldn't have gotten married in the first place," he said, and even as he did he couldn't believe how forthright he was being with her, but she was so easy to talk to. "We weren't in love. I just thought it was something I was supposed to do. Hit a certain age, reach a certain level of success… the next expected step is supposed to be 'get married' and from there have children. I thought we were compatible enough, but I know now I was wrong."

He wondered if he didn't say too much, because she seemed at a loss for words, but then she smiled. He took it as a good sign. She drew from her drink again. "Blimey… and here I was reluctant to tell you about my stupid bet with Magda."

"Sorry."

"Bah, don't say you're sorry," she said, waving her hand dismissively; she then began to laugh a little. "I'm actually a bit relieved to know we girls aren't the only ones pressured by our friends and family to be some sort of super-career woman, wife and mother."

"You certainly are not alone in that pressure," he said.

"Hmm," she said. "If only I'd known that sooner…. Well. I know it now, and I'm glad to."

"And I'm glad to oblige."

He found that he was nearly finished with his second drink, knew he should abstain from another. He swirled it around much like she'd done a little earlier, watching the creamy liquid turn from opaque to translucent as it settled to the bottom of a glass.

"It was over a book."

"Pardon?" he asked, returning his gaze to her.

"Our bet," she admitted. "I thought, being in publishing, I could find it faster than she could. She insisted that she could, with her finely honed shopping skills. Shit, where'd I put my Silk Cut?" she concluded in an apparent non sequitur, looking around herself. "Oh, you don't mind if I smoke, do you? You know, never mind; I won't. I can tell you don't want to be rude and say 'Don't', so I won't. Anyhow. What I hadn't counted on was the fact that she'd become some sort of online auction wunderkind and she had the book within three days, when I'd barely gotten replies back from my publishing contacts. So stupid of me."

He couldn't help himself; he began to laugh. She'd been embarrassed over that? "And the book?"

She glanced to the floor, spoke in a small voice. "It was a special television mini edition of Jane Austen's _Pride & Prejudice_, signed by… well you know. Mr Darcy."

He had a faint recollection of the mini turning his life into a living hell for a two month period several years back. "Ah," he said noncommittally. "And was it worth it?"

"Oh yes," she said. "Magda gave me the book because she said Constance would just draw on the pages with crayons or whatever. But I still lost the bet. Here, let me take that for you." She reached for his empty glass.

"It's all right, I really should not have another."

In her state of slight intoxication, instead of grasping the glass she managed to knock it from his hand, splattering the bare remnants on his trouser leg. "Oh, fuck. I'm so sorry." She put her hand down to brush the droplets away, but realised belatedly it was rather high on his thigh, and she pulled it away as if she'd touched flame. With wide eyes she looked up at him. "Fuck," she reiterated. "Sorry."

"No damage done," he said. The spilled drink had beaded off and he could see no lasting stains.

"Didn't break the glass, did I?" She looked to the side, then back to him.

"Don't think so." He saw where it had come to rest on its side, on the area rug. It appeared intact, or at least that was his assessment in the split second before he was looking at her again.

"I'm a walking nightmare of a disaster at times."

"You're really not," he said with a chuckle. "You're really the opposite of nightmare. I mean—" His rein over his tongue was very loose now. "—I don't think I've ever told anyone about why I got married or that I didn't love my wife. Everyone thinks I'm pining for lost love and God, getting her out of my life was the best thing I've ever done. Anyway, if you were a nightmare I hardly would have told you."

She looked quite stunned. "You _don't_ think I'm a nightmare?"

"Hardly," he said. "I think our first impressions of each other can be discarded wholesale, don't you?"

She laughed. "Sorry, what you said isn't funny, it's just… that was the original title of _Pride & Prejudice_. _First Impressions_. With Mr Darcy. And you're one. A Mr Darcy, I mean."

He chuckled too, more at the fact that she was rambling on than the actual words she said. 

"But I agree," she said. "You're unexpectedly nice to spend time with." She blushed again. "Er. I mean—"

"I know what you mean," he said. "And I agree."

Silence filled the room, as did a sudden, unexpected crackle of electricity; his attraction to her, if anything, had intensified after spending this time with her, but it was still too early (and too difficult) to tell whether the attraction was mutual. "I…" he began, "should probably phone for a taxi. Otherwise I won't be able to get one at all."

"Oh, okay," she said.

"It was very good, having a nightcap with you."

She nodded. "I'm glad we did."

Her voice, her posture, seemed to have darkened. "But…" he prompted.

"Oh, nothing really," she said. "If I'm to be perfectly honest, I'm just trying to figure out where I've bolloxed things up."

"What makes you think you have?"

"I haven't?" she countered.

"Of course not," he said. After a hesitation, he added thoughtfully, "Though perhaps I should have asked you if you wanted to go to dinner with me again _before_ announcing I wanted to ring up for a taxi. Otherwise I guess it does sound like I'm bolting—"

"Of course I do," she interrupted. "We're discarding first impressions, right? And tonight—well, it's a fresh new page, isn't it? I want to keep going. Keep writing. Metaphorically speaking."

"Good," he said. "So do I."

She smiled. "It really _wasn't_ just these tonight, was it?" She pointed to her chest again, as she had earlier. "That changed your opinion of me? You weren't fibbing."

"I wasn't," he said with a grin. "But… if _I'm_ to be perfectly honest, they certainly didn't hurt."

At this she laughed, spontaneously reaching out to place her hand on his. He turned it and took it in his own, brushed his thumb along her knuckles, which sent a spark through his hand and up his arm like a jolt of lightning. He met her eyes, and this time he could tell immediately she'd felt it too. He then moved his fingertips to lightly brush against her palm; reflexively she tightened her fingers around his, then surprised him by lifting his hand up and placing her lips to the back of it for a lingering kiss, brushing her thumb against his knuckles, just as he had done.

Her gaze lifted to meet his; he turned his hand to cradle her face gently with his fingers. As he caressed her cheek her lids fluttered closed, and she let out a long, slow breath before she looked at him again. She then placed her hand atop his and leaned towards him, reaching her other hand forward to sweep her fingertips along his face.

He thought it an ample sign to proceed, and he leaned into for a light kiss on her lips. At the feel of her fingers in his hair, her nails grazing the nape of his neck, however, he could not help but deepen that kiss and parted his lips; she seemed all too receptive and returned the kiss in full. His hand came away from her face to tangle into her hair, clasping her at the nape; he slipped his other hand around her waist to draw her closer, and as he did she twisted her hips and draped her leg across his lap, a leg that was smooth and bare as he ran his hand over it from her knee to her thigh to the bottom edge of the strained miniskirt—

Breaking from the kiss, he brought his hand back to her hip, but she levelled a very smoky gaze at him, claimed his hand and placed it over her breast then pressed his hand into her. Taking advantage of his surprise, she nuzzled into his neck, which prompted him back into action, nuzzling into her own before kissing her again.

There were so many reasons why he should have withdrawn, but he could think only of the reasons why he did not: he liked her very much; the attraction was mutual; and, particular to this moment, he could not think of the last time he'd had a soft breast cupped in his palm, silky lips moving against his own, or a beautiful girl eagerly draped over his lap.

He realised, as he rolled a thumb over the hardened point of her breast, that she'd been systematically undoing the buttons on his shirt, had reached his waist, and now was plunging her hand in to graze her maddening fingernails over the cotton of his vest to pull it up out of his trousers. When those fingernails met the skin just above his hip, a groan escaped his lips quite unbidden.

"Keep going," she breathed hotly on his cheek.

"Yes," he murmured, fumbling for the button on the front of her shirt; once undone, he tugged at the bikini top tie at her neck, then pushed it aside to dive down and cover her breast with an eager mouth. As he did this, she groaned too, pushing her hand down the front of his trousers.

He had a brief moment of reason, wondering if they shouldn't pause long enough to actually take to her bed, before the hand that had been so attentive to her now-bared breast traversed the lower edge of her skirt and eagerly caressed the soft skin of her inner thigh on its way toward the edge of her pants—

She moaned loudly as he pushed aside the pants he recalled so clearly from her strip; as he brushed against the dampness between her legs she moaned again, driving him completely wild, which was exacerbated by the feel of her fingers on him. Then, close to his ear, she swore.

"Just a belt buckle," he whispered.

"Not that," she said, withdrawing her hand, placing it on his chest. In a moment of dread, thinking she had changed her mind, he opened his eyes to look at her, and was overwhelmed by how radiant she looked, cheeks flushed with passion, panting for air. "I just don't keep any… well, _you know_. Out here."

"Oh," he said, then smiled; he might have had a couple in his wallet, but if he did he couldn't be sure they hadn't turned to dust from disuse.

She leaned forward to kiss him again, but very briefly. "So let's go to where I do keep them, hm?" she said softly. 

He sat up as she moved off of him; if not for the aching hardness between his legs he might have carried her back there, but there was the added problem of not knowing exactly where 'there' was. To his extreme delight, however, she extended her hand out towards him with a smile on her lips. He took it, and she led him back to her bedroom.

She opened her bedside table, pulled out what they'd need, then lit a pillar candle on the side of the bed before she switched off the lamp. As she rose to her full height again, she turned to look at him, then approached and reached for his belt buckle, swiftly undoing both it and his trousers. As she tugged them down over his hips, he pulled off the shirt she'd already undone, catching his hands on the cuffs, sending the button of his left sleeve flying off. She grazed his bare hip with her nails, pulling him from any thought he might have had about looking for it.

His only focus was her.

He shucked the vest, pushed back the duvet and sheets then turned to her and pulled the short-sleeved blouse from her. He then reached around her to undo the bikini top; a quick yank to the second tie allowed him to tug it away. It was only then a matter of pushing the skirt down over her hips—drawing him against her as he did so that he could briefly stroke her backside before slipping the bikini bottoms down too.

Then he stepped back to take in the sight of her; the earlier bikini finale of her strip did not prepare him for seeing her with nothing on. This gazing upon her was only for a moment, though. He wanted, _needed_ , to continue making love with her. Despite the frenzy, despite it being the barest of first dates, this was much more than just sex, or 'shagging' in the vernacular; it was, in his opinion, lovemaking.

He reached to take her in his arms to kiss her, but she demurred with a giggle. "I think you'd better… take care of business before we get carried away," she said almost shyly, and he realised in that moment she was completely right. She climbed into the bed as he metaphorically suited up, and when he turned to face her he was glad she'd prodded him to that action; she was reclined against the pillows in a naturally sensual and languid manner, nothing contrived about the pose at all, and even a bit self-conscious, which restored any desire that might have subsided during the necessary break.

He settled in beside her, reclining on one elbow, bending to kiss her as his free hand touched her shoulder, then her breast; her arm came up and around his neck and her nails again sent zings along his skin as they traced over his shoulder. Their kiss deepened as his palm pressed into her breast; he then wrapped his arm around to her back as he moved to kiss then tongue and graze his teeth along the hard point.

She arched forward, making a soft sound as he then ran his hand up and down her thigh. The feel of her lips on his earlobe surprised him from his ministrations, and she took advantage of the brief pause to slip her own hand down his chest to his abdomen, kissing him on the mouth again, pushing his shoulder back so that he was flat against the pillows. Her fingertips traced circles on his abdomen, hip, then arse; she pulled herself up against him then, as she had before, draped her leg diagonally across his. As her thigh brushed against the hardness there, he groaned, then groaned again as she bucked her hips in order for her thigh to brush against him; she did this repeatedly, all the while teasing the tip of her tongue along his lips. He turned towards her, sliding his hand over her bottom, then curling his fingers around to reach for the heat between her legs; she moaned as they slid against her and she pulled herself against him.

He could feel the climax building. He placed his hand on her waist to turn her onto her back, but she, more quickly than he expected, shifted and straddled his hips; she then grasped him and guided him into her. Immediately he moaned and held on to her hips as she leaned to kiss him, her blonde hair teasing his face as they moved together, she tilting her hips into his thrusts and gasping with each one. As pleasurable as the kissing was, it did not last, as she broke away to whimper and cry out in her pleasure; he panted for air as he buried his face into her neck, gently biting at the skin there.

He then felt her hot breath in his ear again: "Harder."

He didn't need to be asked twice. He pushed himself away from the pillows to sit, and as he did, she wrapped her legs around his waist; he then pressed her down onto her back and with gravity on his side he was able to give her exactly what she'd asked for. She moaned again, cried out his name, then dug her fingers into his back as she arched tautly and came; the pain-pleasure mix of her fingernails biting into his skin was enough to send him, with one last thrust, over the edge into climax.

Completely spent, he pulled her with him as he rolled onto his side. He then drew his fingers up and down the length of her body, hip to shoulder, as they indulged in an exceptionally pleasurable series of kisses, her palm almost reverently placed against his face.

"Ohh," she said softly; he looked to her to find a dreamy quality about her expression. "That was very, _very_ good indeed."

He smiled, feeling very comfortable under the scrutiny of her gaze. "Yes," he said.

"You know," she said after some moments, "I'm getting a bit chilled."

"Can fix that," he said, thinking of the duvet, but chuckled when he realised: "We're wrong way 'round."

"We're—oh," she said with a laugh, realising too that the pillows were at her feet.

"A moment," he said, drawing carefully back and away from her before tending to post-coital business; as he did, she flipped herself around and drew the covers over herself. He joined her momentarily, drawing her up against him, and feeling his want for her building all over again.

………

### Epilogue

"Mark. You look like the cat that ate the canary. What's been going on with you? You've been positively spry these last few days."

Mark was eating lunch with Jeremy. He had never been one to kiss and tell, and Jeremy knew it. He said nothing, so Jeremy continued. 

"Anyway. Did I ever tell you what Bridget would have got if she'd won the bet?"

"No," Mark said. Then, overcome with curiosity, he asked, "What?"

"The direct quote I was given was, 'Just find me a nice-looking, decent man like you found the book,'" Jeremy said. "Pretty funny, hmm? Too bad she didn't win, because Magda thought she'd have given Bridge over to you."

The corner of Mark's mouth curled up in a smile, as he thought, _Oh, I think she did win._

_The end._


End file.
